Ramadan

My arrival in Morocco happened to correspond with the beginning of Ramadan, but there was nothing that could be done to change the dates. Of course Ramadan is practiced by many in Europe as well, but things are different here, where it is part of the life of the majority of the population. My Jewish guides decide that, especially at this time of the year, it was important I see how the majority of the people live. So it was decided that we would go to the house of one of the family’s business associates, so I could see what a traditional Muslim house looks like, and see how people break the fast as dusk falls. Although the guys escorting me about are Jews, they grew up fluent in Arabic, and as their community is so tiny, obviously most of their friends and business partners are Muslims. So we went to the house of one such man. M told me it was an “average middle class house” but I struggled to believe him. The neighbourhood was not particularly attractive, although the buildings were solidly built. But inside, the house was lovely, with spacious rooms spread out over two floors. Like most of the places I have seen here, the floor was tile or stone, with carpets placed strategically around the flat. One thing that astonishes me is that when we arrived, the door was not locked. Theft is rare apparently in Morocco, and people seemed shocked that I even noticed such a thing. The smell of delicious food hit me as we entered the flat. I was taken to the kitchen where I could see the women cooking an enormous meal. I was then introduced to all the children, who each wanted to give me a tour of their bedrooms. We then sat down at the table to eat. In such households, the men and the women eat the same food, but separately in different parts of the house. However, as a special guest, it was decided that I would eat with the men. The table was set, with a huge bowl of lentil soup in the middle, and numerous plates of delicious food surrounding it. We sat down and waited for the magic minute to break the fast. Over the radio, we heard the prayers beginning in Rabat, the capital, where the fast breaks about two minutes earlier. Then it was our turn. The minute was upon us, and all the men immediately reached for their glasses of water and began gulping, all of them downing the whole glass in one go. Next we all moved on to the soup, which was delicious. The hospitality here is incredible, and I was expected to try and give my opinion on every dish put in front of me, with the result that after a couple of hours I could barely move. The desserts were the most visually spectacular part, little sugary balls in an assortment of vibrant colours. Each one I tried was lovely, but there is a limit to how many one can digest! The dinner lasted a long time and we sat around the table and talked. I was quizzed about the economic crisis in Britain, and the cost of housing. The father proudly told me about his children’s many accomplishments: one of the girls had just got back from working in Dubai, another was studying medicine. When he heard how many countries I have travelled to, he asked, with a smile if I worked for Mossad. I assured him that I am not even Jewish, but he laughed, exclaiming “but they all say that!” As we left he pointed out that whilst he wore traditional Muslim dress, his children all wore modern, European clothes, and although his wife covered her head, his daughters did not. “We Moroccans are tolerant people, make sure you put that in your report!” he giggled as I got back on M’s motorcycle.